


detention date

by strawberrylipstick



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Detention, Fluff, M/M, lgbt representation, light angst at the end, that will be resolved in the finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 12:09:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19829929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrylipstick/pseuds/strawberrylipstick
Summary: Today is Mr. Bag’s turn to monitor detention. He’s not looking forward to it, but the two kids he has to supervise are way too damn happy about being there.





	detention date

**Author's Note:**

> i write way too much tyrus fanfic
> 
> ALSO I FINALLY STARTED POSTING ON MY TUMBLR HERE [ thanks for reading!](https://godly-styles.tumblr.com/)

Mr. Bag has a very happy life, if anyone has to ask. (They don’t. Usually.) He’s not a bitter man by any means, maybe a little strict and overly dependant on sugary foods to get him through the day, but he generally has a smile on his face. It’s prone to go away whenever he’s around middle schoolers, though, which kind of sucks because thirty hours of his week is devoted to those little shits.

Example: today is his day to monitor detention in the choir room. He has to give up his lonely lunch in the breezy courtyard to be in a class full of Gen Z delinquents. T.J. Kippen is one of them, smiling a little sheepishly, as if he’s uncomfortable. Good.

“Mr. Kippen,” he sneers as he sets down his myriad amount of donuts and coke cans on the table. “Steal any golf carts recently?”

“Yeah...Last week.” T.J. tilts his head to one side, as if he’s actually nonplussed. “You’re the one that wrote me up for it, remember? It was your cart.”

The P.E. teacher rolls his eyes. A little exaggerated laugh comes from T.J.’s left. Cyrus G-something, looking far too elated to be in detention. Mr. Bag frowns. He knows Cyrus, a generally good kid that lacks athletically. The boy transferred to dance class, which had never happened in the history of Jefferson. Usually, adolescent males seem inclined to throw balls around, or at least society wants them to.

It looks like the two of them are the only ones with detention. Odd. Well, no one dares to defy Metcalf, not if they can help it. Except for T.J. Kippen. And Cyrus, apparently.

“I’m going to need your detention slips,” he snaps, gesturing to the small box beside him. T.J. and Cyrus share a glance. It’s kind of freaky, like they’re reading each other minds. 

“Well?” Mr. Bag says impatiently. “Hurry up.”

“I lost mine,” Cyrus squeaks nervously, blushing. “I’m sorry.”

Whatever. We’re all on this planet adrift in the harsh darkness, and by the grand scale of things, who gives a fuck if he doesn’t have his detention slip? T.J. Kippen, though...He chose the wrong teacher to steal a golf cart from.

“And yours, Mr. Kippen?” 

T.J. makes his way over, cocking his eyebrows slightly as he turns in the slip. The kid adds lowly, “I wanted to apologize, Mr. Bag. I shouldn’t have, er, borrowed your cart.”

He waits for the catch, but apparently there isn’t one, for T.J. keeps looking at him expectantly. From the corner of Mr. Bag’s eye, he can see Cyrus trying to overhear nervously.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” he says gruffly. “Make sure you never do it again, or it’s straight to the principal. Take a seat.”

“Sorry again. I did it for my friend.” T.J. quickly sits down, suddenly looking happy as well. Do apologies really make the kid that joyful—ah, of course. He’s seated next to Cyrus; this is their idea of paradise, it looks like. Hm. No talking is one of detention’s biggest and most obvious rules, but Mr. Bag can see T.J. take out a muffin from his bag and offer it to his friend, who smiles brightly. Goddamn.

Mr. Bag takes a bite of one of his donuts, but suddenly he’s craving a muffin. More than that, though, he’s craving company. Kids at this school always seem to have a posse (do people still use that word in 2019?), but when he was in middle school, no one really talked to him. Unless it was to tease him for his weight, of course.

And then he joined the track team. No one thought the fat kid could run, but he did. Pretty well, honestly. But even then, he didn’t make any real friends. Now he has an okay shape for a forty-eight year old man, and people still don’t talk to him. Except one. Mr. Coleman is his favorite co-worker. He’s a nice math teacher, recently divorced and smells like licorice. T.J. has him, Mr. Bag knows; it’s kind of embarrassing, but he once brought the boy up, just so the two could continue their conversation on some common ground.

It would’ve been nice if Coleman was assigned to monitor detention with him. They could’ve exchanged snide remarks, split their lunch like T.J. and Cyrus are doing, listen to music like T.J. and Cyrus are doing...The two boys are sharing earbuds, bobbing their heads as they contently sit down next to each other, practically zero space between them. That’s kind of sweet—Wait a second.

“You’re not kidding. This is  _ detention _ .” He walks over to them. “Cyrus, is that your phone? What’s the meaning of this, guys?”

The boy drops his phone and the earbuds the two were sharing; T.J. grips his arm immediately. Mr. Bag clucks his tongue. “You do realize I can send you to Dr. Metcalf for this, right?”

“I’m so sorry.” Cyrus averts his gaze. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know you couldn’t listen to music in detention.”

Sure. “What about you, T.J.? You don’t know the rules around here?”

T.J. sighs as if he’s making an important decision. “I do. Cyrus, you need to leave.” The other boy begins his protest, which is literally confusing, but Mr. Bag interrupts.

“Excuse me, but I’m the  _ teacher.  _ I  _ dismiss  _ you, not the bell, not students.” He shakes his head angrily. “Are you guys getting into high school or kindergarten?”

The two share another quick glance that clearly says they’ve heard those lines too many before. T.J. hastily adds, “But Cyrus doesn’t even have detention. You can ask all his teachers.”

Cyrus gasps at this, rather dramatically. “Teej!”

“I’m sorry. It’s for your own good.” T.J. looks at him with soulful eyes. Again. Jesus Christ, their stares never end. Someone get them a room where they can confess their undying love for each other, honestly. Just not the choir room.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Mr. Bag is done.

“I don’t actually have detention,” Cyrus explains, finally taking his eyes off T.J. “I’m sorry.”

“Then why would you—” Really, what’s the point of that bullshit question? It’s pretty obvious. He wonders if they’re dating or just crushing, and then sighs. 

They remind him of the childhood he could’ve had, if there weren’t restrictions because of his weight, because of the way people viewed, and still view, the LGBTQ+ community. The two have a long road ahead, Mr. Bag realizes with a jolt, and it’s going to difficult, no doubt. But they have each other and the most accepting generation of all time. 

Ah, maybe Gen Z isn’t so bad, after all.

“Alright, Cyrus, you’re in luck.” He’s made up his mind. “You can continue detention today, for your extreme defiance.” The two look at each other for the six-hundredth time, way too happy, but the teacher has to add, “But give me your phone. Both of you.”

They oblige a little hesitantly. Kids, always in love with those phones. But their tentativeness goes away as they scoot closer to each other, genuinely smiling as if this is the best scenario ever.

“You can still split the food, though,” Mr. Bag adds softly, making his way back to the front. “And talk. But whisper. I don’t want to lose brain cells.”

Fourteen minutes later, the bell rings. T.J. and Cyrus stand up. A grim chill has spread between them, it seems, and Mr. Bag racks his brains; there was a mention of someone, a whispered frenzy along the lines of Kira. And then the conversation had stopped altogether. It’s not a dispute, per se—both of them are calm. Determinedly so.

Well, they’ll work it out. Mr. Bag’s never been so sure of anything else related to this school before.  _ T.J. and Cyrus, Cyrus and T.J., ready to take on the world, _ he thinks as the two leave (not before collecting their phones, of course.) He packs up his things with a sigh and hopes his favorite television show will air tonight. Coleman likes it too.

Except Cyrus comes back with a bright smile, concealing all the hurt that was displayed so clearly moments ago. “Mr. Bag? Sorry, I know I’m late for fifth period, but here.” It’s a muffin. Chocolate, his favorite. “Thanks for being so nice, despite my lying and taking out my phone and talking...Well, yeah, thank you.” The boy doesn’t wait for his reply, just zooms away. If only he was that quick during P.E.

Cyrus really is a good kid, though, and he wonders if T.J. understands that. 

It hits him as he devours the dessert: T.J. was the one who got this muffin. No, wait, not one. A whole dozen. For Cyrus.  Oh yes, the kid totally understands.

**Author's Note:**

> ok i need to update my multi-chaptered fic,, i was looking through my docs and found that i wrote something about michael scott being tj's dad. i literally thought that was a fever dream i wonder if i should post it
> 
> anyway im kinda sappy rn i love andi mack with my whole ass heart and i am actually dreading this show's end so i'm sinking faster and faster into the abyss that is tyrus fanfiction
> 
> leave a comment if u enjoyed!!


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